"Why?" asked her friend, in much concern, "has your mother at last forced you to give him up?"
"No, mother knows nothing of it yet—nothing at all. I simply sent his ring back and don't want to—to see him again. Never."
"My dear girl, you are crazy," exclaimed Miss Tousy. "You don't know what you are doing—unless you have grown fond of Mr. Williams; but I can't believe that is true. No girl would think twice of him when so splendid a fellow as Dic—Mr. Bright—was—"
"No, indeed," interrupted Rita, "that can never be true. I would never care for any man as I cared for—for him. But I care for him no longer. It is all over between—between—it is all over."
From the hard expression of the girl's face one might easily have supposed she was speaking the truth; there was no trace of emotion.
"But, Rita! This will never do!" insisted Miss Tousy. "You don't know yourself. You are taking a step that will wreck your happiness. You should also consider him."
"You don't know what he has done," answered Rita, still looking down at her folded hands.
"I don't care what he has done. You did not make yourself love him, and you cannot throw off your love. You may for a time convince yourself that you are indifferent, but you are simply lying to yourself, my dear girl, and you had better lie to any one else—the consequences will be less serious. Never deceive yourself, Rita. That is a deception you can't maintain. You may perhaps deceive all the rest of the world so long as you live—many a person has done it—but yourself—hopeless, Rita, perfectly hopeless."
"I'm not deceiving myself," answered the wilful girl. "You don't know what he has done."
"I don't care," retorted Miss Tousy warmly. "If he were my lover, I—I tell you, Rita Bays, I'd forgive him. I'd keep him. He is one out of a thousand—so big and handsome; so honest, strong, and true."